


The Garden in Everyone's Chest

by ThePrincePeach



Series: The corpse in the corner begins to weep at what was taken from him. [7]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Corpses, Dreams and Nightmares, Grief/Mourning, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Nightmares, Past Character Death, Past Violence, Shock, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrincePeach/pseuds/ThePrincePeach
Summary: Jeremy held the boy close to his chest, his chin resting atop his head, staring at the garden slowly growing up the walls. “I gotcha’, kid, I gotcha’.”
Series: The corpse in the corner begins to weep at what was taken from him. [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815121
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	The Garden in Everyone's Chest

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, you thought Mike would live, didncha'?
> 
> Ulg, this is 7 pages and still looks short. What do you think? Should I work on making longer segments or work on making them faster?

“I’m sorry.”

Jeremy sat in a garden of red, his hands in his lap, tears dribbling down his cheeks. Flowers of all sizes grew between black and white tiles, each a shade of red more bright and vibrant than the last – some peeking into pink territory while others blossomed into browns. Butterflies fluttered in a frantic flurry around the garden, all red, all dripping. Ivy vines crept up the white walls and bloomed beautifully red flowers, more grew from the ceiling and snuck out between the panelling. Silky soft petals blooming and opening for the attention they so craved. Despite this being a garden, there were no trees, there was no sky beyond the white panels above him, there was no calmness or serenity most akin to gardens. 

The man reached out slowly with a trembling hand, flowers blooming through his skin and vines creeping up his arms. His fingers brushed ever so gently against the scarlet baby’s breath blooming on Mike’s cheek, barely able to touch the soft skin below them. He was cold. His eyes stared upwards in horrifying silence. There was no calm expression as death promised; there were sadness and agony and terror beyond what such a young face should be able to hold. Mike was so young, Jeremy felt a wave of guilt every time he saw the younger in pain, in fear, crying, fighting his own against those animatronics. And now, Mike was dead, and Jeremy felt more guilt than he ever had before. His fingers reached up to brush aside tears that still leaked from the younger’s cold, lifeless eyes. Roses grew from the split across the youth’s waist, baby’s breath scattering randomly across the floor and along his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy managed to whisper through the lump in his throat, carefully scooting towards the garden growing out of Mike, towards Mike himself. Both hands reached for the red garden and held his head so gingerly, so carefully, he knew better than to shake it. Instead, he lifted his head, arms sliding under Mike’s shoulders to pull him close. Jeremy held the boy close to his chest, his chin resting atop his head, staring at the garden slowly growing up the walls. “I gotcha’, kid, I gotcha’.” 

He felt vines of ivy and flowers creep around his arms and lap, over his waist and up his back and shoulders and around his neck and through his hair and over his face. Flowers bloomed into his skin and wept. He tilted up his head and stared up with Mike to the ceiling, trembling and beginning to whimper. It hurt. 

It hurt. 

He sobbed blue petals and it hurt. 

Small hands cupped his cheeks and he looked down to see Mike staring up at him, both suddenly silent as their eyes met. His hands were so cold and clammy, holding Jeremy’s face as gently as he could. Fish-like eyes that had glazed over already, a dull brown that stared up at Jeremy with an emotion Jeremy doesn’t believe he had seen before. Mike wasn’t breathing, Mike wasn’t blinking, Mike wasn’t moving. Jeremy, too scared to close his eyes again, kept his eyes locked on the teen, his eyes glancing between both of Mike’s. 

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled, shaking his head lightly, “I’m so sorry, Mikey, it’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.” Mike’s blue lips parted and revealed the dark abyss inside, a few butterflies crawling out and flapping their dripping wings before taking flight with the others. Jeremy shuddered and held Mike closer to his chest to try and hide his face, staring at the roses blooming over the wall. Sharp thorns sprouting out with it. The older man closed his eyes tightly and began to weep as he felt the ivy vines weave over his scalp and over his eyes. He sobbed as flowers gasped and shuddered. He screamed as flowers bloomed in his mouth and petals filled his throat. He screamed, Mike screamed, the flowers screamed, the butterflies screamed, everything screamed. 

Jeremy woke up with a scream, flailing as he jolted upwards to a sitting position. He stared at the wall adjacent to his bed and screamed again, reaching up to grip his hair, bringing his knees up to his chest – screams turned to hysterical sobs, turned to petty cries, turned to heartbroken whimpers. He gripped his hair tighter and fell back to his side on the bed as a nurse rushed in.

“I’m sorry, kid, I’m so sorry.” 

Mike was dead. That’s what the doctor had said to Jeremy anyway. Jeremy, despite that, continued to stare downwards with no emotion or life in his eyes. The doctor continued, he was in a state of catatonic shock from witnessing such a gruesome death of someone so close to him. He had been in the hospital for a while, since seeing the accident. Accident. Murder. It was a murder. How long had that been anyway? Weeks? Months? Jeremy lost track. He wasn’t keeping track to begin with, anyway. 

Sitting in a wheelchair with his hands folded over his lap, dawned in off whites with his eyes locked on the barred window before him. It’s all he did most days; staring out the window at the gardens below. He barely noticed, or cared, for the nurse shuffling in with medicine on a tray and setting it beside him. 

“Mister Fizgerald, you have a visitor,” She chimed as happily as ever, he barely looked at her, she seemed unfazed at him not responding and, instead, prompted him to take his medicine, “I’ll let them in, okay?” No response still. She patted his shoulder as she took the tray away. The bedroom door remained opened and his ‘visitor’ arrived, the man staring at Jeremy with a frown. Jeremy barely looked up from the garden. 

“You’re still, still like this, huh?” The man asked with a sigh, “Well, no matter, haha. I’m here for ya’.” Jeremy still didn’t look up, the man stepping up to him slowly and carefully before sitting on the edge of the bed nearby. “It’s good to see you again, Jeremy, even, even if it is like this. Even if /you’re/ like this. Do you remember me? Do you, uh, I… I’m sorry. I don’t know how to talk to you right now. You were always the one to deal with this kinda’ stuff when you were around, Jeremy, I don’t know how you did it. I really don’t. You were always so happy and charming, you were a beam of sunshine we needed. I’m, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we took your sunshine, Jeremy. I really am.” His hand reached out and grabbed Jeremy’s shoulder, getting the man to hesitantly peek at it. Fat, freckled fingers. “You were a good kid, Jeremy. The doctors think you can get better. They believe in that. I believe in that. I believe in you.” He squeezed his shoulder and Jeremy, slowly, looked back forward. 

Jeremy watched as a butterfly, a brilliant orange and gold winged one, landed on his windowsill. The man behind him must have noticed it as well and sighed again, pulling his hand away in order to stand himself back up. The man smiled, tiredly, before stepping over and cracking open the window with a quiet hum. 

“Let’s get you a bit of air, Jeremy,” He commented as he glanced over the bars, “I take it you haven’t much left this room on your own accord.” He looked back to Jeremy and paused when he realized the other was staring at him, offering a smile to Jeremy. “It’s good to see you, Jeremy. I mean that.” 

He looked to the door and then back to Jeremy, holding his shoulders firmly but carefully. 

“The moment you get out, I’ll be waiting for ya’ at the doors,” He hugged Jeremy tightly, “I promise.” 

Jeremy closed his eyes. 

Noel wouldn’t keep that promise. 

Everyone grows their gardens eventually.


End file.
